Accommodation
by Saavik13
Summary: Accommodation - noun. Meaning adjustment, normally to meet a need or convenience. Sherlock has a need and Joan is feeling fairly accommodating. Warning: involves kink. Explicit portions reposted on AO3, this is the scaled down version.
1. Chapter 1

ac·com·mo·da·tion (-km-dshn)  
n.  
1. The act of accommodating or the state of being accommodated; adjustment.  
2. Something that meets a need; a convenience.  
3. accommodations  
a. Room and board; lodgings.  
b. A seat, compartment, or room on a public vehicle.  
4. Reconciliation or settlement of opposing views.  
5. Physiology The automatic adjustment in the focal length of the lens of the eye to permit retinal focus of images of objects at varying distances.  
6. A financial favor, such as a loan.

A/N: This story was started right at the end of the 2012/2013 season is now AU. Will be two chapters. I've had to cut out A LOT of text to keep this within 's policies.** If you want the entire smutty version (which I recommend) it's over on Archive of Our Own under the same username and title.**

Joan knew intellectually that Holmes was a little too attached to her. It was obvious in the way his eyes tracked her as she walked a crime scene, in how he seemed to know when she'd had a rough night sleeping, or when he'd asked her to stay. She knew they were getting too close, too close for a sober companion and a client. She'd justified it - their relationship had changed, it was a mentor/mentee dynamic now, it was normal they'd be closer after so much time under the same roof. She'd hedged - don't friends watch out for one another? She'd evaded - they were used to each other's company, and it's perfectly normal for two roommates to comment on each other's sleep patterns. But the truth of it was that while her mind knew that her former client was overly attentive to her, in his own strange and often rude way, she knew that on another level it just felt right.

It was somehow comforting to have him waiting with a cup of tea for her when her own demons kept her awake half the night. It certainly didn't happen often, the tea - not the demons- and his acerbic nature and inherent rudeness made the small gesture a welcome relief from what often felt like blind indifference. Only Joan knew that Sherlock Holmes was many things, but blind wasn't one of them. While he often pretended not to notice the needs of the people around him, she knew he had in actuality cataloged each and every one and made the conscious choice to behave otherwise. She knew he'd have sacrificed his life for her, for the Captain, for most of the people they came into contact with; he'd proven it, time and time again. Why he felt the need to shield himself from the more normal, sane, and less likely to end in his death, forms of human bonding, of friendship, wasn't much of a mystery, not after her terse texting conversations with his father and meeting his not-quite-dead ex. Whatever demons Sherlock possessed from his past, they surely outstripped hers and who was she to judge how another person found solace from such things? He wasn't turning back to the drugs, and that was all that Joan could ask of him as his former sober campaign and as his friend. So she took what fleeting signs that he cared for her, even slightly, and held them dear - even if she would never admit as much to anyone, even her own therapist. And slowly she learned that they were indeed friends, of a fashion, and she drew strength from the bond they were rapidly developing as partners.

She wasn't sure when the real transformation from friend to this sort of amorphous and dangerous _thing_ happened. She knew when she'd gained her own addiction to the manic detective - fairly early in their association if truth be told - but she'd not been able to pin point the moment when Sherlock had fallen victim to his own addictive personality in regards to her. Was it when she'd fallen for his ploy at sending an actor to impersonate his father? Or was it when she practically force feed him her mother's flu remedy? She didn't know. But she knew for sure they were in trouble when he listened to her plan to capture Irene. And any small lingering doubts were put to rest when he named that damnable bee after her. This was no luke warm cup of tea in the middle of the night when he was already awake and sitting next to a pot. This was something he'd planned out - invested effort in.

She liked it. She liked knowing that he depended on her. She liked having him need her to calm his rampaging mind and to see to it that he stayed on the path he'd set out for himself. And in the first few weeks after Irene's betrayal had been unearthed, he'd needed her the most. He was like a seed set loose on the wind, unsure where to go and having precious little control over it. They tried to keep him busy - case after case - but nothing seemed to bring him back down to rest. He was a frantic bundle of energy, zipping across their house destroying most things in his path. It was obvious he'd not slept, barely eaten, in days and if she'd not been constantly by his side she'd have thought he had to have fallen back into old habits. But she knew that it was only his intellect driving him, unable to stop because he knew that the moment he did his brain would turn to thoughts of her.

Joan should have known that he'd need her to take a larger role. It shouldn't have come as a shock when she found him, eyes red and overly large, parked like a shamed puppy outside the bathroom door when she emerged from a shower. He was so tired, she could see it in the way the muscle twitched by his left eye, but he couldn't calm down, couldn't rest... he couldn't turn his mind off enough. He didn't say anything - just held them out to her.

She eyed the dangling cuffs with trepidation. Sherlock couldn't meet her eye, but the need was making him tremble. How could she turn him away when he was so desperate for some form of solace? She'd taken away his drugs and she'd promised to offer support to help him find things that could replace them. But in this time of such emotional trauma, she only had herself to offer and he _needed_ her.

"I don't know what to do." She said softly, reaching out to take the cool metal from his hand. "I don't know what it is you need or expect."

"I am not asking for sex." His voice was unusually rough. "I'd have called someone for that. I just..." He looked up at her for a second before returning his gaze to the floor. "I just need help to sleep and I'm rather disinclined to trust a stranger at present." He did not need to elaborate on why. It was written plainly in the dark circles under his eyes and in the slump of his shoulders. He was at his most vulnerable and it was no wonder he couldn't find it in himself to trust anyone he wasn't completely sure of.

Joan nodded and ran a hand nervously over the waist band of her pajamas, still damp from the shower. "I take it you need restrained? Any specific stimuli?" She tried to keep her voice neutral, falling back onto the calculated clinical tones she'd used so often in her past life.

His head snapped up, his gaze unashamedly grateful. "If you could..." He trailed off, a small self-deprecating smile starting at the corner of his mouth,"...if you could find it in you to apply various pain stimuli I would find it most helpful."

Joan took a steadying breath. "What are my limits?"

"No lasting damage, anything that will take longer then three days to heal could become inconvenient." Sherlock's body relaxed as he explained. "Normally I'd suggest a blind fold, but considering recent circumstances, I would prefer to be able to see you."

He left it unsaid, but Joan had a sudden vision of Irene and a bound Sherlock and it gave her chills. The idea that he might sink so far into himself that he could forget exactly who it was hurting him - she didn't want to think on that too much.

"I haven't actually done anything like this."

"But you've read about it at least. You knew to ask for limits." Sherlock looked at her, a question behind his eyes. "What has stopped you before?"

"I'm afraid I might like it a little too much." Joan shrugged, the cuffs tapping lightly against her leg where she'd rested them. "Doctors do like control. I never thought it wise to give that side of myself more free reign. I've always been afraid that I wouldn't be able to turn it back off."

"I would not normally ask it of you." His tone was light but she could see the pain behind it in his eyes. "I can't promise you I won't like it a little too much either."

She smiled ruefully. "Great. It's not a sex thing but we're both likely to respond to it with arousal. Wonderful."

"Well," he smiled cheekily, "I didn't say it couldn't be a sex thing. It just needn't be. As you well know, I am not opposed to sexual intercourse and I do not attach the same emotional baggage to the act that most of our species seems to. If you would like me to return the favor by assisting in releasing any of your endorphins..."

"Don't press your luck." She snapped back, cutting him off, rather harsher than she intended. "Men have to earn a spot in my bed." Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, smiling manically at her tone.

"That, right there. Keep that going and I'll be down in minutes." He said softly.

Joan eyed him and then the cuffs. "I hate to have to ask, I know how exhausted you are, but what in the world do you get out of it?"

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and he shrugged, leaning against the door frame. "I have a particularly powerful response to certain endorphins that allow me to enter into a rather deep subspace. Call it a natural high if you will, but the after affects are of the main interest to me."

"You sink so deep your brain shuts off." Joan murmured softly.

"Essentially." Sherlock agreed, his eyes holding hers. "It's the only time in my life where I'm not constantly calculating things. If my mind is a computer, think of it as a system restart. I need to power down completely so that my mind can update itself and process the new information that's been collecting in my RAM."

Joan licked her lips. "And, assuming you can teach me how to get you there, do I have to do anything to hold you in it? And how do I bring you out?"

Sherlock stood up straight and held out his hand. "Why don't we take this where we can get more comfortable and I'll try and talk you through it, at least the beginning parts?"

Joan nodded and took his hand. He was practically vibrating, she could feel the muscles twitching under his skin. He was the living embodiment of _wired_, she thought, and for the first time she started to truly understand why he had turned to drugs. They walked slowly to his room and Joan watched from the doorway as he retrieved a frighting number of various instruments from scattered locations to lay them out on the old sideboard that served as his dresser.

"I'd best give you the basics." He said, his tone back to it's typical over excited loudness. "You see, Watson, it's quite possible for the human mind to sink so far into itself it almost shuts down." He looked up at her briefly before going back to laying out what looked like a leather bundle of strings with knots on the ends. "That is of course the goal of this exercise." He bent to the floor of his closet and stood up with several bottles of electrolyte water which he set on the nightstand. "In order to get me to that point, several things must happen."

"I'm listening."

He kept his back to her as he explained, his posture more rigid than she was used to seeing. "I find it necessary to be tightly bound." He stated in his too calm voice. "An authoritative voice, one that is particularly..." he trailed off as if searching for the right word, "... on edge is best." he finished softly. "Those two things alone, if done properly, can usually get me to the go under slightly - more so if there's some edge of subjugation to it. To fully reach the state I require for proper rest, I need to go all the way under and it is during the resurfacing that I typically find myself able to finally recharge. For that, I need to be pushed to the brink..." he paused again, "...and then guided over." He waved vaguely towards the sideboard and the rather dire implements laid out across it.

"Sherlock, I don't know if I can hurt you." Joan stepped into the room and eyed the laid out instruments warily. Some she'd only seen in Criminal Minds reruns. "Tie you up and smack the hell out of you is one thing - I've been wanting to hit you since I met you." She could practically feel his smile even though his back was to her. "But from the looks of these, you're asking for quite a lot of...pushing."

"My safe word is Marrakesh. If you go too far, I will use it. At which point you stop what you are doing, and I will let you know what was too much." He shifted slightly on his feet, still not looking at her. "Since this is new for you, new for _us_ together, it will not surprise me if we do not achieve the maximum effect. I haven't..." he paused again, his shoulders slumping slightly, "...haven't trusted anyone enough since...well you can deduce the cause as well as the timeline, I'm sure." His voice went very soft. "But I've trusted you with my life, Watson. I'm positive that for you, I will fall fairly quickly - and deeply."

"And what do I do when this happens? Will I know?'

"It will be fairly obvious. I will be unable to respond in any meaningful way. At most a yes or a no." He tensed further. "I do have a few limits that I ask you to not cross. They are printed on that sheet, over there." He waved vaguely in the direction of the nightstand. "If I go as deep as I expect I won't be in any condition to give meaningful consent. If you are as good at this as I suspect, I will likely find it difficult to safeword past a certain point. Not impossible, mind, but not easily accomplished and I will struggle to surface long enough for status checks. If you avoid anything on that list it will save us both considerable angst."

Joan walked further into the room and picked up the list. He'd checked marked nearly everything as being okay - nearly everything. Blindfolds were a clear no as was any sort of electrical or chemical play. He'd stared a few things as being of particular interest - most dealt with some form of pain on his part, but a few were achingly simple. He'd put a rather large star next to the option of 'prolonged physical contact' under the Aftercare heading.

Seeming to read her thoughts he finally met her gaze again. "The part you will likely find the most distasteful is the fact that," his voice nearly cracked, "I am usually rather tactile afterwards, until I fall asleep. And sometimes even then."

Joan nodded. "So, if I'm understanding this right, you need me to order you about, cuff you to the bed, chastise you verbally, and flog you senseless then cuddle with you until you wake up in the morning?"

"Yes." He kept his gaze carefully on her and for once there was only sincerity in his eyes. She saw the look of relief that passed over him as she made her decision to do as he asked. Before she'd said a word, he'd stepped closer to her and sunk down onto his knees before her.

She couldn't help reaching a hand out to run through his hair and he leaned into the touch. "I suppose it's only natural for me to ask what's in it for me?"

"I've a very talented tongue, if you decide for the optional sexual elements." he offered up cheekily before adding - almost as an after thought, "m'lady".

"Hum." she murmured, still petting his head. "Not sure that quite worked."

"Mistress?" he tried, his tone still playful. She shook her head.

"Mummy?" he tried again, this time sounding a little worried.

"How about we just stick with doctor." She could feel him smile as he practically nuzzled into her hand.

"Does the doctor have any orders?"

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**REMOVED SECTION FOR RATING** – **_Missing text is available under the same username at Archive of Our Own_**

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He nearly collapsed as his weight was released and she had to steady him on his feet, half dragging him to the bed.

They fairly tumbled to the mattress, his greater weight making it hard for her to maneuver him. He was shaking, murmuring words over and over again into her neck as he clutched at her and it took all her strength to get him under the covers so he wouldn't' freeze to death. She climbed in with him and he plastered himself to her instantly. She stroked his back slowly, trying to calm him down, only to have his murmurs turn into gut wrenching sobs. She finally made out his words just as he started to drift into sleep - "thank you thank you thank you thank you..."


	2. Chapter 2

Joan awoke slowly, awareness seeping into her in a tranquil trickle that left her warm and fuzzy as she slowly blinked her eyes open. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and why. The bed shifted slightly and she turned her head to find Sherlock watching her, his head propped up on his hand. He lay on his side, not quite touching her, the sheet draped haphazardly over his hips and revealing that he had not bothered to dress.

"Hello." He said quietly, his eyes raking hers carefully. "Not too terribly traumatized are we?"

"Hardly." Joan stretched languidly. "How did you sleep?"

"Like the dead." He smiled brightly and flopped backwards to lay next to her. "You were brilliant, Watson. Positively brilliant." He turned his head to regard her again. "I am sorry that I gave into exhaustion before I could return the favor." His eyes narrowed as his nose twitched. "Of course, seeing as we do not currently have a case, I would be more than happy to do so now – seeing as how you are once again aroused. I would deduce that you find my still naked form sexually stimulating?"

Joan blushed. "That…that isn't necessary. I did what I did _for you_. I didn't expect any kind of…payment."

Sherlock rolled over and hesitated, his hand almost but not quite making contact with hers before he pulled it back. "I realize that in the course of our encounter you never actually made any sexual contact with me – however, I had the distinct impression that you enjoyed it in a visceral and arousing way. Your pupils were fully dilated last night, and I could clearly smell your arousal then as well as now. It would be ridiculous to deny yourself some measure of satisfaction when I am offering it, Watson. I certainly found the entire encounter sufficiently stimulating considering I spent myself embarrassingly early into the evening. I dare say, most of my dominates would have punished me rather harshly for that."

"The point was to help you to sleep, Sherlock. You were hardly likely to do that with an erection." Joan sighed. "I can't deny that…I enjoyed it. I did. And…I'm not actually adverse to…accommodating similar requests." She studiously avoided his eyes as she made that confession. "It's just…sex is a…personal thing– for me. I know you don't have the same baggage attached to it, but I don't just take anyone to bed."

"I do so hate to point this out to you, but we are already _in bed_." Sherlock reached out to gently turn her head, forcing her to look at him. "I hardly think that at this point there's anything left hidden between us. I will understand if you do not wish to cross this last line. We live together and work as partners. It would be difficult to become casual lovers and spend so much time together. I must confess that I already find it emotionally compromising to watch you preparing for dates with other men. I imagine it would be more difficult to do so if we were involved sexually."

"Are you saying you get jealous of my dates?"

"Essentially." He stared hard into her eyes. "I am used to open relationships, Watson. But I am not used to sharing something that I do not partake in myself. It is…humbling, in a not particularly pleasant way. Sexual repression is one fetish I do not possess."

"I'm not used to sharing at all- sexually that is." Joan swallowed heavily.

"Then we are agreed. Exclusivity it shall be – unless at some point you wish to explore the more communal activities one can find amongst the fetish community. At which point we can discuss your limits." He smirked and Joan bit back a retort that would have been more instinctive than truthful. He seemed to sense her unease. "That is, if you wish to pursue this through its logical evolution?"

"I…yes?" Joan answered, struggling with the sudden pounding of her heart. "How would this work? I mean, last night you were…and this morning…?"

"I was submissive last evening, and I am not acting in that fashion this morning." Sherlock filled in, dropping his hand away. "I can easily return to that mindset if it is what you wish, Doctor." He lowered his eyes. "But I do not require it in all encounters." He looked up briefly. "Do you?"

"I don't know." Joan admitted softly. "This is new to me, Sherlock. I don't know…I don't know if I can turn it on and off that easily."

"How do you normally like your lovers?" he inquired as he slowly sat up, letting the sheet fall away from him revealing the full length of his body and the clear signs of last nights activities that had yet to fade.

Joan blushed as she took the marks in, her tongue unconsciously darting out to wet her lips. He followed her line of sight and smirked as he realized what had caused her reaction. "You like seeing your work."

"Yes." Joan confessed breathlessly. "I do." She forced herself to meet his gaze. "And I do tend to like to…give direction."

He smiled wickedly as he sank further down the bed, dragging the covers away from her. "What are the Doctor's orders?"

Joan sucked in a sharp breath as his hands lifted the bottom cuff of her pajama pants to gently caress her ankle. He leaned down, running his nose up the arch of her foot before pressing a light kiss to her lateral malleolus. "You don't seem to need orders at the moment."

"Need, no." He whispered against her skin. "But I am not the one in need of release at the moment." His eyes flickered up to hers. "If you need to give orders, than do so and I will submit to them. Otherwise, I am content to investigate every inch of you from bottom to top at my leisure – until you tell me to stop." His tongue drew a lazy path around the bone and up the side of her Achilles before he nipped gently at it.

"Sherlock," she gasped. "that's…that's…"

"Not an erogenous zone?" He chuckled as he moved to her other ankle and repeated the process. "I beg to differ, Doctor."

Something inside her seemed to give as his hands moved up her calf. She shifted her feet to push him away, at the same time catching the elastic of her bottoms and starting to shove them down. He caught her hands gently and shook his head.

"May I, my Doctor?" he asked softly, his eyes the gentlest she'd ever seen them. She nodded and he slowly and carefully pulled the material down as she raised her hips.

She'd been getting ready for bed when he'd caught her in the hall the night before and she'd not been wearing anything more than the thin pants and t-shirt. His eyes dilated as he saw her exposed and his breathing increased. She reached down and pulled the shirt over her head and off, leaving her as completely naked as him for the first time. His nostrils flared as her hand moved lazily down over her stomach to tease gently at her own curls.

"Watson…" he breathed, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallowed. His eyes were focused on her fingers and she smiled wickedly.

"You were boasting about your tongue." She shifted one leg to give him a better view, her fingers dipping lower. She'd been soaking wet the night before and the hairs were stiff with the dried evidence of her arousal. Her fingers rubbed lower, picking up a bit of the new moister that had gathered and dragging it up. "Is that still on the table?"

"Oh yes." He croaked, falling nearly instantly to lay on his stomach, his head rubbing against her bent knee. "Oh yes, _please_," he whispered.

She raised her hand to tangle her fingers through his hair, rubbing her juices in to the locks as he nuzzled into her palm. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are, all willing and eager." She said, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. Her teeth bit into her lip as a jolt of arousal made her squeeze her legs together before opening them wide. "I'll tell you when to stop." She hissed, looking down as she guided his head to her.

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**CONTENT REMOVED DUE TO RATING CAP. **

**FOR COMPLETE CHAPTER, SEE ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN UNDER SAME USERNAME, SAAVIK13**

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"You may be the death of me, woman." He muttered and Joan chuckled hoarsely.

"But I've just gotten started." She smirked and shifted so she was lying across him, her head resting on the thick muscles of his chest. "This won't get weird, will it?" She asked softly some time later. "I mean, the next time we're on a case and I start arguing with you…"

"I'm hardly going to drop to my knees in the middle of the police precinct." Sherlock's chest vibrated when he spoke and Joan couldn't help snuggling into him. He tightened his arm around her in response. "I don't see why it should. It's more a redefinition of what we are, a renegotiation of boundaries as it were. We've done it once before."

"True." She acknowledged. "But that wasn't such a large shift."

"Babysitter to partner is a shift of rather epic proportion, Watson." Sherlock ran a hand through her hair, scratching lightly on her scalp. "This seems a more natural progression if anything."

"I should warn you I'm not very good at relationships."

She could feel more than hear his laugh. "I assure you, of the two of us I am by far the worst. I can promise you I will continue to be as rude, condescending, and generally beastly as I ever was." He squeezed her firmly. "However, you know hold a significant number of motivational tools to encourage good behavior that were beyond your previous role."

"You mean I can take my frustration out on you later with your permission?"

"I mean you can withhold sex." He clarified. "And after last night and this morning, I dare say I could easily get used to having you close at hand. I may not survive you withdrawing your attentions." She could hear the smirk in his voice. "I am rather looking forward to exploring this new side to you, Watson." He paused. "Should I start referring to you by your given name? It seems a tad unnatural to call you 'Joan' for a reason I cannot quite place."

She shifted to look at him. "If it were anyone but you, I'd say yes. But you're right. I rather like hearing 'Watson' from you – it just seems more_ Sherlock_." She leaned down to kiss him and just as their lips met the phone rang.

He was up and out of the bed like lightening and Joan was not in the least surprised when he reappeared seconds later. "We've a case!" he declared and Joan sighed, rolling slowly to the edge and up onto her feet as Sherlock proceeded to toss clothing around the room in search of something clean.

"Give me a chance to shower." She complained as she gripped the wall, her legs stiff.

Sherlock paused in his search and eyed her. His gaze darkened again as he saw her difficulty and he smiled in a very self-satisfied way. Joan raised an eyebrow. "Keep looking so smug and next time I'll see how you like me returning the favor. We used your toy box this time, but we haven't touched on mine."

"Joan Watson, are you threatening me with a good pegging?"

She couldn't help her predatory smile. "Who says it's a threat?"


End file.
